Retrospective/Decisions, Decisions.

7 seconds. The silver mech lost the match by just seven seconds.

The Victory screen showcased the winner—'Dust Devil', a red and orange mech of the scouting archetype (A tier III 'Pincer', to be precise), retrofitted to gain some of the capabilities of a close-combat mech. It stood triumphant, one foot over its eliminated opponent, a large flag in one hand.

An info-box popped up to its side, with a portrait of the winning Pilot—A pale-faced woman with short, jet black hair tied in a ponytail, and piercing, icy blue eyes. Her sharp face accentuated with a scar on her cheek. Below that, was her name:

Daryll Red.

Yseni paused the recording, then rewound it by about a minute. He switched from the official video feed to a free-cam mode, and dove into analyzing the match with full intent, letting his breakfast go cold. Occasionally, he would pause and take notes. That was how he had spent his free time recently, studying Daryll's past matches, trying to gauge her fighting style and operational tendencies.

This particular match was of the Possession variety—A free for all where various mechs fight to gain possession of a flag, with the winner decided by the time that the mechs spent with the flag at the end of the timer. Typically, at least. Daryll had taken the bold route of disabling every other mech, stopping the timer prematurely and winning by default.

The dust settled around the red-and-orange mech as it stared at the last remaining opponent. A mere minute on the clock remained.

Her opponent, a silver heavy long-range mech, held both the flag and the pole position. As long as it could survive till the timer, it would win. It had some distance on the red mech, and it needed to maintain that for as long as possible. The red mech had little ranged offensive capabilities, not enough to penetrate the silver mech's armour. It would certainly have to close the distance to deal any significant damage.

As expected, Dust Devil dashed head on to close the distance.

The silver mech decisively began its retreat parallel to the cliff walls—without intervention, the red mech's greater agility would allow it to catch up. The flag hindered its ability to wield its primary weapon, so it had to go, and in that same movement, the mech pulled out its sniper. Still retreating, it shot a barrage of sniper fire at the red mech's position.

The red mech immediately changed course, dodging and weaving as much as it could, and turned directly towards the cliff face and then scaled it. A grapple anchor whizzed from the cliff face and snatched the flag right as the red mech disappeared beyond the cliff.

The silver mech could no longer find its target, and understanding the red mech's scheme, it turned to rush away from the cliff face. It put its weapon back.

Twenty seconds remained.

The silver mech ran.

Eighteen.

Dust Devil appeared at the cliff face. It hopped off and rushed directly towards the silver mech.

Fifteen.

The silver mech was overtaken.

Fourteen.

Dust devil stopped right in front of the silver mech's path, a blade outstretched, its feet digging into the earth, ready for a collision.

It was too late to change directions without slowing down. The silver mech pulled its arms in front of its cockpit in a bid to meet the red mech head on. It bet the match on the heavy mech's momentum. A light and nimble scout class would not have nearly the stopping power to counter its momentum.

Thirteen point five.

Collision. A large dust cloud obscured the camera, accompanied by the loud sounds of metal crunching and scraping against itself. The silver mech did not shoot out of the cloud.

Seven.

The cloud cleared slightly. Dust Devil had won. A closer inspection would show deep gouges along its shoulder blades. Four heavy duty cables could be seen emerging from its back. Three of them were pulled taut, their other end anchored into the cliff face from which it had jumped. The fourth, also once anchored, had snapped.

Grapple anchors, often used for quick turns or harassing opponents. Dust Devil had used those to supplement its stopping power. And within six seconds, disabled the other mech entirely.

Yseni had to admit, if it weren't for the fact that Daryll only participated intermittently and that she hadn't shown up in many of the larger competitions, she would likely have become a household name. It would be an honour to help build mechs for a pilot of her capability.

That is, if their deal held true.

Yseni hadn't heard from Daryll in the past couple of days. She could rat him out at any time, despite her promise not to, and he could do naught to counter it.

Unfortunately, Yseni's fate was in the hands of Daryll now. All he could do was have faith (hard to do for a stranger) and wait (which is a hell in its own right).

---

Daryll ran a hand along the gashes on the Dust Devil's arm. The indented, nearly torn metal was almost sharp. She remembered the exact moment she, or rather her mech, got that. She remembered all of it, all the cuts, bullet holes, scrapes, slashes. How each of them felt, how she got them, who she was fighting, everything. Perhaps, even, in more detail than she remembered her own life.

There was a reason Mech pilots never retired. Life itself felt dull, just a haze, in contrast with the Sync.

"I'm gonna miss you girl," Daryll whispered to the mech, then patted the ripped off metal limb. "You were fun."

A soft, reminiscing smile graced her lips. She'd first rode the mech on a mercenary mission. Her older mech, a close-combat type, had met its end, and this was a spare the ship's crew had been lugging along. It was her first scout-class. She'd fallen in love with it immediately.

"So, whaddya wanna do with 'er?" Kars spoke up from behind her. She had been Daryll's primary mechanic for a while now, and was a good friend.

"You really can't do anything about this?" Daryll asked. She knew the answer already.

"Let's see. You busted up 'er frame, fried the onboard computers, and flooded the pancaked engines with hydraulic fluid." Kars rested a hand on Daryll's shoulder. "And that's the least of it. I won't say I can't make 'er sing again, but it's sure as hell gonna be a lot more expensive than gettin' a new one."

"Fuck..." Daryll sighed. "Suggestions?"

Kars nodded, as if in contemplation. And then after a moment, "Dump it."

"Fuck off," Daryll shoved her shoulder and chuckled.

Kars grinned. "I'd keep 'er. She treated you well. Partial repairs, showcase piece..."

"... Dunno," A memorial to Dust Devil sounded nice, but Daryll couldn't help but feel somewhat off about that. She looked at Kars, who was lost in thought, possibly thinking of how she would fix the mech, then looked up at the giant face of Dust Devil.

Too vivid memories of her battle-worn companion surfaced in her mind. A showcase piece felt like an insult to their time together.

"Nah." Daryll shook her head resolutely. "She had a soul, you know? Can't disrespect her like that."

"Ah," Kars nodded sagely, "Pilot drivel."

Daryll ignored her and climbed up to the mech's chest, near its cockpit. There, about fifteen feet from the ground, was a small detachable panel. Marked on it were the words 'Red x Dust Devil'. Daryll had engraved this with a 'borrowed' laser engraver when she'd finished that first mercenary mission. She popped a tab, and the plate came right off.

"She's coming with me," She smiled at Kars, who could only give out a sigh. "I'll reuse her parts, keep her spirit going."

"Sure bud, whatever you think," Kars rolled her eyes and smiled. "Get down now! Gotta decide on your next mech!"

Daryll hesitated briefly. Her mind wandered to Yseni and the deal she had made with him.

"... I'll hold off on that for now," She said, and began her climb downwards. "Move her to my home till then?"

"Gotcha."

"And, about that hypothetical mechanic... " Daryll had brought up hiring an unlicensed mechanic in a previous conversation with Kars. She had laughed it off.

"Told ya before," Kars shook her head, "be a miracle you'd find a nut who'd hire an unlicensed brat."

"Even here in Limitless? I find that hard to believe."

Kars leaned against Dust Devil, her gaze following Daryll's decent. "Look, Daryll," she began, her voice concerned and with a hint of exasperation. "The Empire's got a thing for talent. They'd license a one-armed monkey if it got a knack for mechs. Give em the training, education, and all that."

She paused, letting the words sink in. "So, if you got a mech jockey that's worth a damn and ain't licensed, means he got baggage. Means the Empire won't let him get licensed, yeah?" She waved her hand. "That, it brings the kind of attention no one needs. It's not just about skill—it's about staying off the radar, and an unlicensed hotshot is a blip you can't afford."

Daryll stopped and sat down on the separated arm of the mech. "Hmm..." She mulled over Kars' words. This sounded more serious than she had previously anticipated. For a moment she reconsidered if it was worth getting into Yseni's business, before she remembered her own love for mechs.

He didn't seem dangerous or anything, really. And he did have talent, as far as Daryll's untrained eyes could tell. She doubted she could have built a mech in those circumstances if she had the ability.

She unhooked a flask from her waist and took a swig. No, she wouldn't change her mind. She won't deny him his love for mechs.

"But..." Kars said, drawing Daryll's gaze to her. "Won't hurt lookin' at his work every once a while."

"... Kars," Daryll grinned. "You're a fucking blessing."

---

The night's events trickled through Daryll's groggy, hung over brain. She remembered heading out from Kars' place, and getting herself a drink to honor her old mech.

She remembered stumbling upon a workshop in a corner of Versa's market at its Solistice Belt. It was going to close down, the owners moving away, but it was a good place—close enough to Daryll's and Yseni's places, adequately large and well equipped. She recalled grabbing the owner's contract, and a promise to rent the place out.

Another drink later, and she'd been able to piece together the 'nut' who had hired Yseni—Cerrit. It was an investigation out of curiosity more than anything, but she remembered having gone a bit overboard. She had contacted Cerrit.

And she had fought with him.

And she might have cost Yseni his only job.